And taking her back to his house so she could imprint herself on it in a series of tormenting images was about the most foolish thing he could think of doing. Maybe she’d say no.
‘That would be lovely, actually,’ she said in her soft, well-modulated voice that played hell with his nerves. ‘I missed lunch and I’m ravenous.’ Her smile was spontaneous and open and landed right on target. He nearly groaned aloud.
‘What do you fancy—Chinese? Indian? We’ve got both in the village, miraculously.’
‘Chinese, if that’s OK?’
‘Fine. Any preference for dishes?’ he asked, reaching for the phone.
She shook her head, and he stabbed in the number of the take-away and ordered a set meal for three and extra rice.
‘Great, let’s go. Do you want to follow me?’
She nodded. ‘Fine.’
He shut the window in his room, checked the surgery once more and locked up, setting the alarm on the way out. He phoned his parents on the way there, and they were waiting on the kerb with Sam as he pulled up.
‘Hi, Sam,’ he said with a smile, but his son just looked at him.
‘You’re late,’ he said accusingly. ‘We were going to build my tree-house.’
‘I know. I’m sorry. The lady who was coming for interview was held up. In fact, she’s coming back to the house with us because she’s hungry, and we’re going to get a Chinese. How does that sound?’
‘Horrible. I wanted to do the tree-house—and anyway, Granny gave me supper,’ he said flatly, and Nick’s heart sank.
‘I’m sure you can manage a bit of lemon chicken,’ he coaxed, but Sam just shrugged.
‘We’ll do the tree-house tomorrow, after my morning surgery, I promise.’
Sam just made a disparaging noise and sat back, turning his head away, and Nick left him to it. He’d come round. He usually did. Nick pulled up outside the take-away and ran in, grabbed the over-large order and ran back to the car, throwing Helen a smile.
She smiled back, and his body slammed into overdrive again. Hell, he’d have to stop doing this. He was going to embarrass himself—and her, and anybody else around. And just then the anybody in question happened to be his son! It was totally inappropriate, he told himself. Totally.
Except, of course, that she was single, and for some reason she was going to adopt a child. Why? She was beautiful, clever, she had attitude—maybe too much attitude. Maybe she couldn’t keep a man because she was just too prickly, but that didn’t figure. Her references had emphasised her people skills and her good relationships with her colleagues.
So why was someone like that alone? It was wrong. She shouldn’t be, any more than he should, and there was no reason on God’s earth why he shouldn’t react to her. He found himself wondering if she had fertility problems and if she was alone because of that.
What a wicked shame. All that beauty and intelligence should be passed on to the next generation, not locked up inside her and allowed to go to waste.
‘It’s none of your business,’ he told himself fiercely.
‘I didn’t say a word!’ Sam protested, and he realised he’d spoken out loud. Oh, hell. What else had he said?
‘Sorry, son, just a bit distracted. Ignore me.’
‘Only if you do my tree-house.’
‘Tomorrow,’ he vowed, and wondered if it really would happen or if yet again something would get in the way.
Oh, Sue, he thought helplessly, why? Life’s just so damned complicated without you.
He turned onto the drive and cut the engine, and Helen’s car glided to a halt beside him. Sam was out and off, and he called him back.
‘Sam! Come and meet Dr Moore.’
He turned, defiance etched in every inch of his little body, and walked back to his father’s side.
What a beautiful child, Helen thought with a pang of envy, and got out of the car. Beautiful and furious. She dredged up a smile. ‘Hi. You must be Sam. I’m Helen. I’m really sorry I’ve made your father late. I understand you were going to build a tree-house together and I’ve got in the way. I’m so sorry.’
He scuffed his toe in the gravel and shrugged.
‘’S’ all right. Doesn’t matter. It always happens.’
Beside him Nick shrugged helplessly, a sad smile in his eyes, and Helen’s soft heart went out to him. She hadn’t asked about his wife—personal questions weren’t in her repertoire. She didn’t invite intrusion into her life, and so she didn’t intrude into others’, but now she wished she had, because they were obviously still hurting from whatever had happened to them, and she didn’t want to put her foot in it.
Still, she didn’t know, so she’d just have to work her way round it. She focused her attention on the house instead, and instantly found herself fascinated and enraptured. Built in soft old red bricks, it was curious and interesting, long and low, with a strange round blip on the end.
‘What an amazing house,’ she said, following Nick in through the broad double door into the entrance hall.
‘It used to be a windmill, hence the name. It’s called the Old Post Mill. This bit was the grain store. Come on through to the kitchen, I’ll find some plates.’
Helen followed him, conscious all the way of the baleful, resentful look she was getting from his son, but she ignored him. There was nothing she could say that would make it better, and he’d get over it in time. Anyway, it wasn’t her problem, it was Nick’s.
Besides, she had other things to think about—like Nick’s fabulous kitchen. It was wonderful, oddly enough a real cook’s kitchen, clean and functional but obviously busy, the walls lined with solid pale oak units, the worktops black granite, often-used utensils hung on racks in easy reach. It was just the sort of kitchen she’d always wanted but had never been able to afford, or owned a house worthy of it, and she sighed softly. Sam hitched himself up onto a tall stool and glowered at her across the breakfast bar.
She tried a smile, but his eyes just slid away, so she focused her attention on his father. That was a mistake. His movements were smooth, efficient, and spoke of a body well honed by exercise. Her mind ran off all on its own, and she dragged back forcibly.
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ she asked, needing something concrete to do to occupy her mind.
‘I think I can probably manage to unwrap a Chinese,’ he said with a wry grin. ‘You could find us a drink, though. What do you fancy? Have a look in the fridge.’
The fridge was astonishing—one of those amazing American contraptions with a crushed-ice dispenser in the freezer door. She had a look inside the other door. There was a bewildering array of bottles in the door rack, white wine, fizzy drinks, mineral water—too much choice.
‘Any preference?’ she asked a little helplessly.
He shot her a crooked a grin. ‘Personally, I fancy iced water—gallons of it. Sam probably wants something fizzy. What do you fancy, son?’
Sam shrugged awkwardly. ‘I dunno. Water.’
His father arched an expressive brow, and Sam’s mouth turned even further down at the corners. ‘Please,’ he said ungraciously, and Helen had to suppress a smile.
‘I guess that’s three waters, then,’ she said brightly. ‘Where do I find the glasses?’
Nick pointed at the cupboard, and carried on opening packets. She sniffed appreciatively. ‘Smells good.’
‘Hopefully it’ll taste good. I hope you’re hungry. I seem to have ordered rather a lot and Sam tells me he’s eaten.’
Right on cue, her tummy rumbled, and he gave a low chuckle. ‘I guess that’s a yes, then.’ He smiled, and she smiled back, unable to resist his good nature.
She gave an inward sigh. She wished Sam had as little trouble resisting her good nature.
‘Are you all right in here or do you want to eat in the dining-room?’
‘Here’s fine. It’s a lovely kitchen, I’m jealous.’
‘Tough, it’s mine. Sam, go and wash your hands.’
Sam slid o
ff the stool and stomped out of the room, and Nick sighed and rammed a hand through his hair. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said softly. ‘I end up disappointing him all the time, because things get in the way, but it can’t be helped. Life’s a steep learning curve for kids with single parents. You really want to think very carefully about it before you embark on it.’
‘I have,’ she said quietly. ‘Don’t worry, I am aware of just how difficult it can be. My mother brought me up on her own, so I know just how steep that learning curve really is.’
She was conscious of his thoughtful look and wondered if he’d follow up on it, but he didn’t, not really. At least, he didn’t ask any penetrating and awkward questions, merely said, ‘Just bear it in mind. Now, come on, dig in. I’m not eating the rest of this for breakfast.’
‘Shouldn’t we wait for Sam?’ she asked, still concerned for his son, but he shook his head.
‘He’ll come back when he’s ready.’
He handed her a spoon, and she helped herself to the various dishes from the little metal cartons. She didn’t even give a thought to the calories. She was far too hungry to care. Nick didn’t seem to be counting calories either. He piled his plate, speared a king prawn and eyed her over the top of it. ‘I haven’t yet asked you when you’ll be able to start work.’
She paused, the forkful of rice hovering in front of her mouth. ‘Any time,’ she said. ‘I’m on holiday as from today, but I need to arrange accommodation and move nearer, obviously.’
‘Do you have a house to sell?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘No. My buyer was in a hurry to complete, so I’ve already moved out. I’m in a bed and breakfast at the moment, for my sins. I thought it was better to be ready to go than to get stuck in an endless chain.’
‘What sort of thing are you looking for?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Somewhere nice to bring up a child. I don’t mind doing a bit of work, I quite enjoy it. Nothing too expensive, though. I don’t want a big mortgage, not on a part-time job.’
‘I wonder,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I had a patient—she died a couple of months ago. Her cottage is nice—it’s only tiny, and it certainly needs a bit of work, but with a bit of imagination you could see that it would be lovely, and it’s got a super garden. I’ve still got the key, actually—forgot to give it back. The auction’s on Monday evening, and I think the guide price is pretty low. Fancy a look?’
‘Tonight?’ she said. ‘Is it far away? Only I have to get back.’
‘It’s only round the corner, but the easy way is over the fence at the end of the garden. That’s why I’ve got the key. I used to keep an eye on her.’
She shrugged. Why not? She had to live somewhere—and the sudden flicker of interest she felt was nothing to do with the fact that it backed onto Nick’s garden. Of course not!
‘Sounds good,’ she said.
He waved his fork at her. ‘Eat up, then. You aren’t allowed to see it until you’ve had at least two platefuls.’
She ate. She ate till she thought she’d burst, and then she looked up at him and smiled. ‘Is that enough?’
He grinned. ‘It’ll do for starters.’
She gave Sam’s plate a thoughtful look. ‘Is he coming back?’
‘I don’t know. Probably not. He’s sulking. He’ll get over it. He’s had supper anyway, so I’m not worried. He can have some later. Ready to go?’
She looked down at her pencil skirt and high heels. ‘Can I get over the fence in these?’ she asked, and he grinned.
‘I should think so. There’s a gate—well, a panel that lifts out of the way. Much more dignified. Your shoes might get a bit muddy, though.’
‘They’ll clean,’ she said, suddenly eager. ‘Let’s go.’
CHAPTER TWO
AS THEY left the kitchen and walked down the hall, Nick could hear the television blaring from Sam’s bedroom. He felt a pang of guilt—another one to go with all the others—but there was nothing he could do about it. He stuck his head round the door.
‘I’m taking Dr Moore to have a look at Mrs Smith’s house. We won’t be long.’ Sam didn’t speak, just ducked his head and ignored him. He sighed inwardly. He couldn’t blame the kid, but he’d get his tree-house tomorrow. He’d have to, or Nick’s life wouldn’t be worth living. The guilt would kill him.
He opened the front door and ushered Helen through it, catching as he did so the delicate scent of her perfume—or was it her skin? Whatever, a wave of heat hit him broadside and he almost groaned aloud.
‘At least it’s still light,’ he said, groping for something intelligent to say. ‘And cooler,’ he added, thankful for the slight breeze that took the fire out of his skin.
‘Only slightly. We spend all winter moaning about the cold, and the moment summer comes we all complain.’ She threw him a smile, and for some crazy reason it made his heart jerk against his ribs. This was going to drive him nuts. He strode down the garden, heedless of her struggling behind him in her high heels, and when he reached the fence at the end he yanked the panel out of the way almost viciously.
‘Here we are. It’s a bit overgrown at the moment, but with the weather we’ve had everything’s been shooting up. Still, the roses seem to love it.’
Helen followed him through the gap and looked around, her eyes taking in the wild tangle of garden. ‘It’s gorgeous!’ she said breathlessly. ‘Oh, Nick, it’s wonderful! I’ve always wanted a garden like this.’
‘You haven’t seen the inside of the cottage yet.’ He laughed. ‘You might absolutely hate it.’
‘It’ll have to be dreadful to put me off,’ she said with a smile.
He walked up the path, and the drooping lupins brushed against his legs. The garden sorely needed attention, but that wasn’t his job. He didn’t, in fact, have a reason to be here at all any more now that Mrs Smith was dead, and he probably should have given the key back, but the son seemed quite keen for him to have it, and if he could manage to sell the house he was sure they would all be grateful.
Leave alone his own feelings in the matter. He didn’t want to analyse them. He had a feeling that his interest in finding Dr Moore a house quite so close to his own had little to do with settling her quickly into the area and much more to do with having her very much at hand. He pushed the key into the lock, turned it and swung the door open, sniffing as he walked in.
‘It smells a bit musty, I’m afraid, but it’s been shut up for about three months,’ he said apologetically. ‘Try not to see it as it is—try and imagine what it could be like freshly decorated with some decent carpets and curtains.’
He turned to look at her, and caught the dismay on her face.
‘Freshly decorated?’ she said with a choked laugh. ‘It’ll take more than a coat of paint to sort this lot out.’ She looked around her, and as they walked through the rooms, upstairs and down, he saw her draw herself up as if to accept the challenge. ‘On the other hand, you’re right, it could be lovely, and I can forgive it anything because of the garden.’ She turned to him and met his eyes. ‘You say the auction’s on Monday?’
‘That’s right—six-thirty.’
‘Any idea how much it’s going to be?’
‘None, I’m afraid—the guide is only that. I can find out the name of the agent for you, but I doubt if you’d be able to move into it straight away anyway in its current condition.’ Nick eyed her thoughtfully. ‘I don’t suppose there’s the slightest chance we could talk you into sleeping at the practice and starting on Monday, is there? It’s just that, if you’re already available, we could really use you straight away. My partner’s mother’s died in a nasty accident, and his father is deranged with grief, so Lawrence is on compassionate leave. And as if that wasn’t enough, the locum we got in to take up the slack has gone and got himself chickenpox, so he’s out of the picture now. There’s a room at the practice—quite a nice room that we used to use when we were on duty—and you’d have use of the kitchen, so you could actual
ly make it quite homely in the short term.’ He gave her his most persuasive smile, and she chuckled.
‘Not that you’re putting pressure on me or anything like that, of course.’
‘Of course not,’ he said with a grin. ‘Wouldn’t dream of it. However, if you would consider it, you’d have our undying gratitude. Trying to find a new locum for the next couple of weeks will be impossible.’
She tipped her head on one side and smiled at him quizzically. ‘Your undying gratitude, eh? I wonder what that’s worth?’
Nick groaned. ‘I’ve got a horrible feeling I’m going to regret offering you the post,’ he said, a thread of laughter in his voice. He looked around them and then back to Helen. ‘Have you seen all you want to see? I’d like to get back to Sam.’
‘Yes, that’s fine. I’d like to talk to the agent as soon as possible—and, yes, I suppose I could start on Monday if you really, really want me to.’
Nick felt a great weight lift off his shoulders. ‘Wonderful! You’re a star, Helen Moore,’ he said with another smile. ‘Thank you.’
Helen thought she must be losing it. He only had to smile at her and she was putty in his hands. Still, if she was going to work here she might as well get into it, and it sounded as if Nick really did need her at the moment. If nothing else, maybe it would mean that Sam could have his tree-house.
And maybe she could have her house, this tired, run-down little Victorian cottage with its wonderful rose garden. Always assuming, of course, that she could afford it. Heaven knows what it would fetch at auction—it would just depend on the night, she realised dispiritedly.
She stiffened her spine. She’d have to afford it, she decided. It was so lovely—correction, it would be so lovely—that she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. And, she thought, following Nick through the gap in the fence, there was the added advantage of being so close to him.
She caught herself on that thought. She really must be going crazy. There was no way she needed to think about being close to him, or close to any man. She didn’t do that. She was going to have to make a continuous loop of tape and play it to herself all night—I do not need a man. I do not need a man. I do not need a man…
A Very Single Woman Page 2